Dear Rogue,

The Association of Teenagers

Dear Rogue,

Well, for once, we were wrong. Now that you have this really serious disease, you may have been kicked up a notch in our books.

But it's still really gross.

And so is your hair.

You're definitely going to get a lot worse. Then you'll probably die. No one will miss you.

With sincere glee,

THE COLD HARD TRUTH ASSOCIATION

Rogue,

Are you SERIOUS?

Okay. Okay, let me get this straight. Bobby broke up with you. Bobby broke up with you, and to get over him, you went on a secret mission to save one of your former boyfriends former friends and both of you are sick? And all of a sudden you can touch people? And wait, LOGAN is there? He came all the way to Boston?

I'm sorry I haven't written you anything. I know when I had my tonislls taken out, the days stretched on and on and on and on and on and...

You get the point. It's taken me a while to get through your letters, and I've been worried about taking them to school with me so I have to wait until after to read them, just in case I accidently dropped them, and that Magneto guy found them, or something, and I got arrested for like, treason or something.

(Okay, I'm pretty sure that wouldn't happen, but I'm still not quite up on my mutant affairs, and I don't really now how all of this works. Is there, like, a union, or something?)

(I think it's really just an attempt to insert some excitement into my otherwise dull, depressing life)

Okay, do I sound too self-deprecating now? Not my intent. I wanted to send you a letter full of sarcasm and with that would distract you from the monotony of hospital life. Although, honestly, Rogue? I'm having a really hard time feeling sorry for you. Logan flying all the way to Boston to see if you're all right? John trying to apologize? Your mutant power (as if you don't think of it as a superpower!) suddenly going away? Waking up to find Logan holding your hand?

Wait, that should be WAKING UP TO FIND LOGAN HOLDING YOUR HAND?

Because that is definitely the part that I find most interesting. I don't care if he is a million years older than you. He sounds HAWT.

By the time you get this, you'll probably be married to Taylor Lautner and jet-setting across Europe to have tea with the Queen and Johnny Depp. Which will be a cover for the top-secret mission the CIA is sending you on to find out the real meaning of Christmas, or something. Has anything else happened? At this point, I don't even know what you could tell me.

You told me to get junk food and action movies to get over Ben. No offense Rogue, but that's pretty lame compared to what you're doing.

I can't believe that you are having this amazing adventure, and I'm stuck here in stupid Westchester. I mean, I know you're sick and all, but seriously. Really absolutely nothing has happened since my last letter.

I need more information, so I can accurately give my opinion on all of these goings on in your life.

First of all, Bobby. What exactly did he say? You weren't specific enough about that. Was it a "it's not you, it's me" break-up? Or a "Lets just be friends."? "I need some space."? "I'm dating a Victoria's Secret Model."? "I think I might be gay."? Or just "I'm a big stupid jerkface and you're not giving it up so I'm moving on to sluttier pastures."?

I was thinking about this one line that a guy used on Leah once, about how he thought he might be a mutant, and he didn't want to run the risk of hurting her. A week later he was making out with Mindy McKamron behind the climbing wall. Leah said later that she was definitely justified in telling him it wasn't her that should be worried about getting hurt. He still limps a little on cold days.

That was a stupid story. I was going to try and make a joke about how there's no way anyone could get away with that at your school, huh? But it's a bad joke. I'm sorry; I've been really bad at the humour thing lately. Not to sound all emo, it's just been hard to find things to laugh about lately.

I've turned into what can only be called a social pariah…which is just…

I don't even know how to explain it. I don't know how it happened. But Ben and Leah are the talk of the town (well, the third floor locker bay, anyway), and I've been kind of pushed to the wayside.

I'm not entirely blameless, I can admit that. Ben and Leah still invite me out with them, but it's not the same, and it's pretty obvious that we're not going to be the same kinds of friends we used to be. But it's the rest of the school that's really bothering me…

This is going to sound really shallow, but I'm just going to say it. I'm a fairly popular girl. I hate that word, popular, but it's the truth. And I've worked really hard to get it that way. I try to be friendly to everyone, and I smile a lot and I make an effort to talk to people and take an interest in them. I am interested in them. A lot of people like me, from all different groups. But lately it seems like all anyone else is interested in is Ben and Leah. And I'm sort of realizing that I didn't have any other REAL friends, other than them, you know? I've kind of retreated a bit, I guess. I'm spending a lot more time at home with Emma and my Dad, and I've been studying a lot more (I did quite well on my exams, actually).

But none of that matters, because you are in the hospital! You are clearly a much better friend than I am, because even while you're on this death defying mission, overcoming your mutant power, and having a standoff with an evil minion of doom (who may or may not still want to be your friend), you still have time to be concerned about your friend Kitty and her ex-boyfriend! And to me, even though I've been awful and haven't written you any letters since you got to Boston (although, to be fair, it has only been a couple of days-but I know how slowly time passes when you're confined to a hospital bed).

Do they know what you have yet? I hope it isn't anything too serious. What is going on with John? And Logan? And Bobby? I need updates, soon! Save me from my boredom!

Love and Tylenol 3's,

Keltie

Dear Rogue,

Is it possible that you tried a little too hard? Because now you're going to be stuck with no mutation, no friends, no boyfriend, and no sense of colour co-ordination (pink AND red, Rogue? Really?).

The Society Of Mutants that Can't Control Their Mutations, but Would If They Just Tried

in conjuction with

THE COLD HARD TRUTH ASSOCIATION

Inter-Hospital Memo

To: Doctor Harris

From: Henry McCoy

Subject: Patients D'Ancanto and Allerdyce

Dr. Harris, I'm requesting permission to let Marie and John leave the hospital grounds for the afternoon. While the patients are not recovered and treatment has yet to start, their conditions remain stable for the time being. Both patients have been growing restless and have become, if I may say so, a pain in my behind. Mr. Summers has agreed to accompany them and will be able to contact the hospital if any problems arise.

To: Dr. Henry McCoy

From: The Office of Dr. Alberta Harris

Subject (No Subject)

Permission granted.

J-Dawg! Look at this note! Stuck right under your nose! (Nose hair, much?)

We're free! We're going out for the day, Hank just told me! Wake your ass up so we can get out of here!

Ro.D

P.S. Don't think this means that you're forgiven. Evil minions of doom don't get off that easily.

Dear Keltie,

I'm so so so glad that you wrote me back. I was getting kind of worried.

I don't like what I'm hearing about you not going out and not getting out of bed. But before I get into that, I need to tell you about my day.

John and I have been getting pretty restless, and it has manifested itself in not so productive and frightening ways (i.e. We communicate with each other and even-I can't bear to say it-make jokes, sometimes). We've been getting on Dr. McCoy's nerves a little-okay, a lot-and today he got frustrated and told Scott to get us out of his sight. He and Dr. McTaggart (she's a geneticist from Scotland-she's got the coolest accent) needed to analyze our blood tests and other boring stuff like that, and since he said our conditions weren't likely to change anytime soon, we got a field trip! We were quite excited, as you can imagine, waiting for Scott to come and get us. He laughed when he saw us, sitting on John's bed, our hair combed and our hands folded in our laps. 'Like five-year-olds afraid they'd get playtime taken away from them', he said. Logan told us he was going to sight-see on his own, but that he might meet up with us later. I think he was going to flirt with a nurse from ontology, but you didn't hear it from me.

Scott rented a car and took us downtown. Let me tell you, Boston is not a fun city to drive in. It's all one-way streets, and even Scott had difficulty navigating them. We walked a little bit along the Freedom Trail, but both John and I got tired really quickly, so we turned around and had a nice tour of the Boston Common benches. Scott wanted to see Fenway park, and I took a picture with his Blackberry to send Kitty. She's more of a Cubs fan, but I think she'll still appreciate it.

Then Scott took us to Quincy Market, which has tons of cool shops and stuff. By this point, John and I were exhausted, and collapsed in the food court. Scott bought us some pizza and sodas and suggested going back to the hospital, but we both straightened up and swore we were fine. He narrowed his eyes at us (I'm exaggerating, not actually being able to see Scott's eyes and all) but let us eat without further mention of the hospital. That was when Logan showed up.

I don't know what he'd been doing, but he seemed agitated (maybe the nurse wasn't interested?). He sat down next to us and refused to answer my questions. "You okay?" he asked gruffly, trying to change the subject.

"Fine and dandy," I told him.

Logan accompanied me into some shops in the market. He waited patiently when I insisted on going into one of the girlier shops and only slightly growled at the saleslady who suggested that maybe my 'father' would like to wait outside, after he almost knocked over a display of teacups.

"She didn't really think I was your father?" he asked when we were on our way back to meet John and Scott. I'd purchased a few souvenirs for Kitty and Jubilee. (You'll notice that your souvenir is included with this letter).

"Of course not," I shook my head, because I was pretty sure she'd thought he was my boyfriend, and clearly didn't approve. I didn't mind so much.

We walked a little bit more, when we suddenly came across the most unusual monument I'd ever seen. "What is this?" I asked Scott. "This isn't in the guidebook."

In front of us were six towers, like large glass elevator shafts, about 6 stories high in a grassy area along the road. As we walked closer, I could see that there were millions of tiny numbers etched onto the glass. I could feel my mouth drop open involuntarily as I gazed up.

"It's a Holocaust memorial," said John, from behind me. He was looking at the plaque beside the first tower. It was a timeline of events, leading up to and during, the Holocaust.

We walked through the first tower. Below our feet was a grate, and smoke was billowing up through the grate from embers below. The effect was...I can't even describe it. I could feel John inhale shaply next to me, and I looked up and saw the thousands and thousands of numbers, each one representing a person who lived and died in a concentration camp. Auschwitz-Birkenau, this tower told me. I walked through each of the towers, pausing in each one to look up. When I came through the last one, Scott and Logan were reading a granite plaque, which read:

They came first for the Communists,

and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Communist.

Then they came for the Jews,

and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Jew.

Then they came for the trade unionists,

and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Catholics,

and I didn't speak up because I was a Protestant.

Then they came for me,

and by that time no one was left to speak up.

-Martin Niemoeller

Underneath, someone left a plain white card, taped to the ground. "Then they came for the mutants."

John was still standing under the 6th tower. I watched him reach his arm around the glass. In the low light, the numbers were reflected onto his arm. He looked at me, and I knew we were thinking the same thing.

I never thought I would say this, but for the first time today, I think that I understood, in some way, what Magneto and the Brotherhood were trying to do. I mean, let's be clear-kidnapping me and being general malefactors is not cool. They were going about it all the wrong way, that's for sure. But I looked at all those numbers, and I didn't understand how anyone could let such cruelty happen. "It was a long time ago, Rogue," Scott reminded me later. But it's not, not really. Look at the genocide in Rwanda-that was only 15 years ago. We had television and internet on our side then, and it didn't help. Or Darfur-what are people doing to stop that? Some of the things I see on the news that people do to mutants is just as bad. What Stryker was trying to do to do last spring with Cerebro was essentially the same thing. It makes me feel so hopeless inside.

"Rogue," Scott said, after a few moments. We had continued to stare at the monuments. "We should go." They walked away, and John and I trailed behind, slowly. I tried to catch his eye, but he wouldn't meet my gaze.

We had dinner at an Irish pub the guidebook recomended, and both of us were pretty quiet. I couldn't stop thinking about the monument, and neither could John, I could tell. I must have fallen asleep after desert (like a toddler, I am) because when I woke up, Logan was carrying me out to the car. I rested my head against his shoulders and wished I could feel like I did when I was 16, when Logan saying he would take care of me was enough to make the world feel managable again.

I know better now. I know that if I want the world to be safe, I need to do it myself. Which doesn't mean I have to do it alone-I have the perfect system in place: The X-Men. I realize now why it was so weird hearing that Peter had joined the team: Because it made me realize that it was something I could never do. I mean, I help out every now and again, but it's really a case of being in the wrong place at the right time. My mutation is largely useless in the grand scheme of things. But I need to stop looking at it as a curse and start figuring out how to use it to my advantage. I want to be an X-Man, and I want to have control of my mutation. I want to find away to make this feeling of darkness go away, and make sure that history doesn't repeat itself.

I need to get better, first. Which means that tomorrow I'm going to do everything that Hank and Ms. McTaggert tell me to do, and I'm going to get John to do it with me. I might still hate him, but if I can help him, then I'll know I can make a difference.

I hope you enjoy your present, and I'll keep you updated.

Love and Boston Tea Cups,

Rogue

Dear Rogue,

So you think you can save the world? Going to be a superhero, now?

We can practically hear the swell of music and see the flag waving behind you.

Yeah, right. Give us a break. Get out of here. Take a hike. [Insert popular colloquialism here]

You think that just because you've had this burst of motivation, you'll be able to get better, control your mutation, and win the hearts of millions of Americans? Good luck with that, sweetheart. We'll be watching from the sidelines.

And we've got popcorn.

Sincerely,

Mothers Against Insincere Epiphanies and Meaningless Revelations (MAIEMR)

With

THE COLD HARD TRUTH ASSOCIATION